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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748219">New Year's Day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowfelldmv/pseuds/shadowfelldmv'>shadowfelldmv</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dimension 20 (Web Series), The Unsleeping City</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Holidays, New Year's Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:55:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,738</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowfelldmv/pseuds/shadowfelldmv</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Esther has a lot to think about on January First.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ricky Matsui/Esther Sinclair</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>New Year's Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>"please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was no color in this room. Just swirls of grey that encircled a void of minuscule dots of light. They might have been stars. Souls. Memories. Maybe Esther had been hanging out with Pete too often. She’d definitely been hanging out with Pete too often. Suddenly, an image appeared. Something of stained glass, some patron. It was all so blurry. The swirls and pale shards came together to form a shape. There was no face in the shape, no defining features. She squinted in an attempt to see. It became even blurrier. Then, a voice boomed. A voice that seemed to come with a scent. The scent of New York itself, not the pretty parts, the grittiest parts.</p><p>“Hey Esther, what the fuck?”</p><p>Kugrash. She had watched him die just a few short hours ago. Why was he already back? Where was he? Esther always had the answers but felt genuinley clueless now. </p><p>“What do you mean, what the fuck?”</p><p>“Why didn’t you save me? I mean, you’re a fucking wizard. You didn’t have any magic to help a dude out? After I cured your family?”</p><p>She felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. She wouldn’t be cured without him. She could do nothing but apologize. </p><p>“I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do.”</p><p>“Really, Esther, absolutely nothing?”</p><p>The voice had switched. The voice she knew so very well. The voice that had taught her everything she knew. Alejandro. She let him die, too. </p><p>“I don’t know. I could’ve tried harder. I’ll do anything to get you back, Alejandro. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.”</p><p>As she began to let the tears roll, the voice shifted once more.</p><p>“You’re not a hero like me, Esther. You could have sacrificed yourself, like I did. I looked Death in the eye and got out. You could’ve too, right? Why didn’t you?”</p><p>Ricky. She tried to speak back, but it was just a croak. She had spent the past few months head over heels for this voice. Why? For him to say this? Why would he say this? She took a deep breath.</p><p>“I can’t do what you do, Ricky. I can’t. I’m not as good as you think I am.”</p><p>“Then why I am I still here?”</p><p>The shape began to fade. She sobbed. She had finally found someone. And just like that, he was gone. </p><p>Esther shot up, absolutely drenched in a cold sweat. She got readjusted to her surroundings. To the left, a lamp, dresser, outlet. In front, a mirror, closet door, TV. To her right, Ricky. God. He was still there. Not that he wouldn't be, but fear was reasonable in this sort of scenario. He looked beautiful. Not in the way he normally did, though. Esther always thought he was “cute.” He was always adorned with a goofy smile. His nose did that thing where it wrinkled a bit when that goofy smile took over his face. It was never really too big of a smile. It could go on forever. He could never wipe that toothy grin off his face, she wouldn’t care. But as for right now: he was peaceful. The ends of his lips were upturned, just a bit. A strip of sunlight came from the far window and caught his face. He was a perfect sunbeam in that moment. He was truly beautiful. Esther just felt like an inferno in comparison. Just a roiling, burning, raging mess. If the chantry never caught fire, Ricky wouldn’t have to deal with this shit. The whole dying and coming back thing. She wouldn’t have to deal with this shit either.</p><p>The whole falling in love thing. She hadn’t done it before, it wasn’t an option. Now she can hear their hearts skipping at the same time. They marched together in lockstep. They’re tethered, they beat to the rhythm of uneven breaths. Not from Ricky, of course. He probably didn’t have a single regret. She was the uneven breath. There was no capacity for love in her heart until, well, less than a day ago. This was probably too much for Ricky. Too much at once. Too much, too soon. </p><p>She leaned over Ricky (who was comfortingly warm) to check the alarm clock. 11:33 AM. Not too bad considering the night she just had. How was that last night? At least she hadn't already pulled her normal shit and ran way.</p><p>She still could.</p><p>Click. That was it. There was a hotel door just waiting for her to open. Fuck love, it wasn't real. Nothing felt real, so this certainly wasn't. This love wasn't realistic or sustainable, frankly. Maybe she had been pining for almost a year. Maybe none of that was real. Maybe this was too good to be true. She took one last look at the sunbeam. He was so happy. What a burden she would be. </p><p>So, she left.</p><p>It was so humiliating to step back into what she was wearing the night before. This wasn't like her. Guilt began to creep up her legs as she slipped her jeans back on. Strewn about the other side of the room was her camisole, blue flannel, and worn out combat boots. She tip toed as lightly possible to get herself back to normal. Even with the obvious bloodstains on the flannel, it felt like order had been restored. She clutched her trusty silver bat in the corner and turned to take one last look at Mr. Sunbeam himself. She had to go with what was tried and true. That was running away. She slipped out the door and closed it as softly as possible. </p><p>She trusted the streets. They were always there for her. Nothing could change that, except maybe whatever the next impending apocalypse is. Streets had the buildings of New York, which had magic in them. Not like the magic she had. Nothing arcane or scientific about it. It has its own inherent magic. The magic only something that was truly loved could have. As she reached the crosswalk, she realized she was on a path to nowhere. Where was there to go? Mom wasn't at the park anymore. That's where she used to go when she was unsure. What about Clinton Hill Chantry? Oh, God. What was it without Alejandro? He would still be here if she was a better wizard. He should still be here. Maybe she could find closure, some solace. It was her home. She took off to her safe haven.</p><p>The chantry felt empty. She predicted this. It wouldn't feel full without its rightful owner. The book shelves held centuries of arcane knowledge. Endless stories of spell casters saving the day. They zap the big bad villain. They save the martyr before they have the chance to become one. The chosen one delivers a killing blow and saves the party. She had read all these tall tales, but had learned nothing.  She though she knew so much, she knew fucking nothing at all. Her boots creaked as she walked through the rows of tomes and sextons, letting her fingers brush every single spine. She turned a corner to a dimly lit hallway, one her mind knew all too well. At the end of the hall was Alejandro's office. </p><p>It looked the exact same. It had its ominous bowl of smoke and collection of JUUL cartridges. Gross. Was it intrusive to go to his desk? Maybe.</p><p>There was a note. "Esther Sinclair," it read. Curiosity killed the cat. It also gave the cat of purpose. That's how that saying went, right? </p><p>"Esther, dearest. We both know I am not making it through this battle. To be a part of the Clinton Hill Chantry, the Gramercy Occult Society, that was my American Dream. You deserve to have yours. I wrote this spell for you. You can cast it whenever you want. It's called Beam of the Bright. Because you are so bright, my dear. Cast it when you feel upset or unsure. You don't need this assurance, but now you have it at your will. I love you, Esther. Thank you for being my prodigy. Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you. This place is yours."</p><p>Salty tears began to roll. Esther had cried more in the past day than she had for most of her life. She looked to her palms, mustered what little willpower she had, and cast Beam of The Bright.</p><p>Sunshine began to spill out of her hands and created a spectral version of herself. A version no different than her corporeal body, other than being made of pure light. It looked at her and smiled. It looked deep into her eyes and talked in her own voice.</p><p>"You are where you are meant to be. You are allowed to feel sorrow. You are not a burden. You are so very loved by so very many. You deserve happiness."</p><p>Light dispersed into millions of specks as they funneled back into her palms. The only validation she ever needed to seek was from herself. She was loved by others, but most importantly she had to learn to love herself. Her stubbornness, her elitism, her insecurities, all of it. It's a work in progress, but she felt a step closer. Especially with a space for her own. She let the last tear drop as she marched out the door, back to where she started this morning mission.</p><p>As her hotel key clicked, she took the deepest of breaths. Everything was okay. Quietly, she opened the door. Ricky was right where she left him, bathed in the sunlight. As stealthily as possible, she crept back over to the bed. Her combat boots made a clunking noise as she pulled them off and climbed back beside him. Still warm. She just had to stare at Mr. Sunbeam. Just as she began to settle back in, he stirred.</p><p>"Esther! Good morning. How are you this morning? Or afternoon, I don't really know at this point."</p><p>She chuckled and snuck a look at the alarm clock: 12:45 PM.</p><p>"It's past noon. My morning was rough. Had a lot to think about, I guess. I'm better now." She cracked a bit of a smile.</p><p>"Good. I like seeing you smile, Esther. It's like a sunbeam."</p><p>Esther grinned harder than she had in quite a while.</p><p>There they were. Just two sunbeams on January 1st.</p>
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